CHAPTER XIV
“I AM NOT GERARD DE COBALT”
OF all present Gabrielle was by far the most agitated. The Duke, perplexed, suspicious, and bitterly hostile to the man who had stepped between him and his passion, was chiefly concerned to find how best to turn the thing to his rival’s hurt. De Proballe, angry at having been tricked, was for the moment too occupied in enjoying his personal importance in having thus unmasked the impostor, to think of much else.
But to Gabrielle the issue was all in all. If this were not Gerard her cousin, the man to whom she had been betrothed, how strangely forward and unmaidenly she must have appeared. She recalled with a sense of something akin to shame how she had almost pressed herself upon him in the first moment of his arrival; and at the recollection, her cheeks flamed so that she hid them beneath her hands and involuntarily drew away from his side.
It was but a little thing, that gesture of hers; but Gerard saw and understood it, and on the moment it stayed the words of avowal even as they were at his lips, and changed the whole course of his action. He had come to Morvaix to ascertain the truth as to the misgovernment and, if need arose, to depose and punish the powerful Governor; but his love for Gabrielle was now so much to him and filled so much of his purpose, that he set it first and before all else.
He had won her love by a trick, an imposture. He had been in great measure forced into it by circumstances, indeed, and by his very zeal in her cause. But it was none the less a trick; and he was too proud, having won it so, to hold it by mere greatness of rank. He would not avow that rank until he had justified himself in Gabrielle’s eyes.
And even as he thought of this and formed the resolve, another consideration occurred to him. He could by this means still further test the methods of rule in Morvaix. He had had ample evidence of the Governor’s willingness to wrest the considerations of justice to his own personal ends; but it would throw a fresh light upon matters to note his conduct when he knew that the man he had first used and then threatened was not the cowardly murderer the real Gerard de Cobalt was said to be.
“Do you intend to trifle all day with me?” demanded the Governor, when Gerard had remained silent some time.
“I am not trifling, but thinking,” answered Gerard. At his calm strong tone Gabrielle took her hands from her face and with another eager, almost imploring glance, made a half step toward him, and then checked herself in deep embarrassment.
“You have need to think, I’ll warrant,” exclaimed de Proballe.
But it was to Gabrielle Gerard turned.
“You have no need to shrink from me, mademoiselle,” he said with a smile, “although I can understand you. I fear I must plead guilty to having deceived you. I am not the writer of that letter. I am not your cousin, Gerard de Cobalt.”
“So you see that game is over,” sneered de Proballe. “What lie next, pray? You will not find us so easy to be fooled now.”
“If I am not Gerard de Cobalt, monsieur,” cried Gerard, sternly, “you will still find I am a man who does not take insults lightly. For your past words I forgive you, because of your natural irritation at this discovery. But for your future words and conduct I shall hold you responsible—every word and every act.”
“You will of course explain your conduct, monsieur, and state as frankly as you can who you are and your purpose in my city. See to it that the explanation be as satisfactory as your present position is equivocal.” The Governor’s tone was curt and peremptory.
“The explanation is due to Mademoiselle de Malincourt, and I promise you it shall be frank enough in some respects to satisfy even you. I had a sufficient object in coming to Morvaix—what that is for the present I withhold—and to accomplish it I took a name not my own. I borrowed it at hazard from a notorious dicer and wastrel of Paris—Raouf de Cobalt.”
“But you called yourself Gerard de Cobalt,” said the Duke.
“In ignorance that he had a relative of that name—an even worse scoundrel, it would seem, than himself—whom you and M. de Proballe designed to use for your schemes.”
“Do you think to carry off this imposture with insolence?” demanded the Duke angrily.
“It is not insolence. I have no cause to hide the truth, monsieur. I had been in Morvaix but a few hours when I was a witness of the scene in the market place, and we met for the first time, mademoiselle. I inquired concerning you, and learning that you were the Gabrielle de Malincourt whose praises were on all men’s lips, I haunted the gardens of the maison in the hope of seeing you again. There we met, yesterday, for the second time—and you may remember my passing confusion when you questioned me as to the reasons for what seemed such strange conduct in a man you believed to be your cousin and for whose coming you were prepared.”
“You did not tell me all, monsieur,” said Gabrielle.
“You shall know why. I was on the point of doing so when M. de Proballe interrupted us, and carrying me away, told me enough to disclose to me the peril which threatened you.”
“Yes, yes, we know all about that,” interposed de Proballe hastily.
“Mademoiselle de Malincourt does not. You read the letter yesterday of which your follower Denys had in some way possessed himself, mademoiselle, and I need only say that that contained in essence the story of this de Cobalt which M. de Proballe told me at length, adding that my marriage with you was to be no more or less than a cover for your ruin at the hands of the Duke de Rochelle.”
“It is a lie,” cried the Governor furiously.
“Then blame the liar, M. le Duc. There he stands,” and Gerard pointed at de Proballe.
“It is a tissue of lies,” said de Proballe. “You know me too well, Gabrielle, to believe this vile slander.”
“There you mistake. It is I, not Mademoiselle de Malincourt, who know you. I know M. de Proballe’s life and reputation in Paris.”
“This shall go no further. Your name, monsieur?” demanded the Governor.
“Does not touch the truth or falsehood of what I say, and need not therefore be disclosed yet. I shall choose my own time to disclose it.”
“You will tell it now, or suffer the consequences.”
“I do not understand. Do you threaten me?”
“By your own confession you have come sneaking here in an assumed name; as a spy of some sort. We soldiers have a short shrift for spies.”
“Monsieur——” began Gabrielle, in a tone of entreaty, alarmed for Gerard’s safety, and a prey to many mingled emotions.
“I have committed no offence, mademoiselle, save in having misled you to believe I was a worse man than I am. For that I have to crave your pardon, pleading only in excuse the reasons I have shown. For the rest, I have done no wrong,” he said, meeting confidently the Governor’s threatening looks.
“You are a spy, monsieur, and as a spy shall be treated.”
“It is no uncommon thing for strangers to travel without disclosing their names. Is that a crime in Morvaix which is a common practice all over France and Europe?”
“Do you say now you are naught but a traveller?”
“Far from it. I have a purpose in coming to your city.”
“Then you are a spy, I say.”
“I am no spy, monsieur. I am a soldier. A true son of France with none but pure French blood in my veins; and a loyal subject of His Majesty the King, of whom we are all subjects in common. I have fought under the great Bourbon, the Suzerain of this city and the territory of Morvaix. To hold me for a spy will argue ill of Morvaix and the rule that prevails here.”
“You dare to threaten me, then?”
“Monsieur has doubtless his papers to support his statements and a safe conduct from his powerful friends,” suggested de Proballe, with a sneer.
“Aye, of course, produce them,” declared the Governor. “They may explain the suspicious manner of your coming.”
“I can make good my words at any time,” said Gerard, not relishing this thrust. “The manner of my coming was my own choosing. But since I have been here your lordship must have seen for yourself my acts have been far from those of a spy.”
De Proballe stepped forward and whispered eagerly to the Governor.
“Is that so, indeed? I hear that even now you have been seen making careful observations of our Castle and the fortifications. You can of course explain so singular and apt a curiosity? Apt, I mean, as fitting with the conduct of a spy.”
“Are the soldiers of France forbidden even to look at the fortifications of Morvaix’s famous Castle?”
“Spies are so forbidden, monsieur, and when detected are dealt with as you, being a soldier, will understand.”
“I repeat, I am no spy.”
“Then prove it so, by declaring who you are.”
“I am accustomed to have my word accepted, monsieur,” answered Gerard proudly.
The Governor was about to answer when de Proballe laid a hand on his arm and drew him to one side.
“Why not declare yourself, monsieur?” asked Gabrielle, half-hesitatingly, as the others drew out of earshot. “You little know the Duke if you think you can safely hold him at defiance thus.”
“I am not concerned for what he may think or do, mademoiselle. It is you, and you only, whom I fear to have estranged. I deceived you. Can you forgive me?”
“You should not have done it, monsieur,” she answered, dropping her eyes. “You—you shamed me.”
“God forbid you should believe such a thought as that could have been in my heart.”
“But I—I deemed you were my cousin. Oh, when I think of it, my face flames with humiliation.”
“Then in all truth am I bitterly punished. But you must see how hardly I was placed. When I heard the blunt confession of all that was designed against you I knew not what to do. Hating myself for every act and word of compelled deception, yet I could not speak without——But of course, you must blame me.”
“You could have told me, monsieur, if you had trusted me;” and the reproach in her eyes as she glanced up stung him so that he winced.
“And you read in me no more than mistrust?” he whispered.
“Monsieur!”
“And you think I have been untrue to you?”
“Monsieur!” This time with a little accent of pain, adding under her breath, “I trusted you so completely.”
“And now?” His tone was as low as hers, and when she made no answer he said, “First your words stabbed me, now it is your silence.”
She caught her breath and lifted and let fall her hand with a gesture of perplexity: a pathetic little sign of her distress.
“But you, too, are silent—still,” she murmured, after a pause.
“And I was so sure of you.” The softly spoken words stung her so that she winced at the implied reproach in them. The reproach was unmerited, and while repudiating the injustice she was both wistful and yet unwilling to let him see how his words hurt her.
“Why will you not speak and end the uncertainty?” she asked.
“For myself and for others I care nothing, as I say; but can you find no reason?”
“It is for me?” she cried quickly, with a swift glance and an involuntary thrill of delight. She had not doubted him; but the confirmation of her trust which seemed to come from the assurance that it was still for her he was acting thus, brought inexpressible comfort. If it was for her that he still ran the risks involved in maintaining silence, it could be for only one reason.
He had been acting a part, and yet not acting merely with her. The words he had spoken, the glances he had cast, the thousand little acts and signs he had given while she had deemed him her cousin, had expressed real feeling. He had not looked on her as unmaidenly, but—and as the thought grafted itself more firmly upon her faith in him, the colour came flooding again to her cheeks, but from such different causes, and her eyes glowed.
“I thought——” she said, about to give impulsive utterance to her new belief, when she checked herself, looked up with a smile of sweet confusion, and then again dropped her eyes.
Gerard had watched her closely trying to read the perplexing changes of her manner, fearing from her constraint and silence that she was angered; but gathered hope fast when she smiled.
“I would give much to know that thought,” he said, when she faltered.
“You must not keep silence and run this risk for me,” she said slowly, keeping her eyes upon the ground.
“Am I forgiven the deception I practised?” he whispered.
“Was it not done because you deemed it best for—for all things?”
She had meant to say “for me,” but the words hung on her lips so that she could not utter them.
“For all things, no,” he answered pointedly, “for you, yes; for you only.”
It was sweet hearing. Her heart beat fast and her bosom rose and fell quickly in agitation. But she could not look at him, could not let him see yet how deeply he had stirred her. She had passed one crisis of racking pain when she feared that she had mistaken him; and shrank now from even a chance of misjudgment.
“I believe that,” she said simply after a pause.
“And I am forgiven?” he pressed, eager for her to look at him, that he might read in her sweet eyes the knowledge for which his heart was hungering.
“Yes.” It was a whisper, no more; and still she kept her eyes down.
“And you trust me as ever?”
“I may?” she questioned in a whisper.
“As God is my judge you may,” he answered with intense passion.
“Could I forgive if I did not trust?”
“Thank God for that trust.”
She smiled and was lifting her face to meet his ardent gaze, when the Governor and de Proballe returned.
Neither Gerard nor Gabrielle had had eyes or ears for them in the minutes of absence; and had not noted how at first they had talked together and had then sent for the two men, Antoine de Cavannes and d’Estelle, and having questioned them, had once again conferred alone.
It was de Proballe who now took the chief part, and he approached Gerard with a bland smile upon his sallow face, and said, in a smooth even tone—
“My lord has now committed this matter to my hands, Gerard, as a family affair; and I am confident it can be easily arranged.” Gerard noticed the use of his name and the familiar manner, and read in it at once some change of purpose.
“I do not wish your interference, monsieur, and recognize no right of yours to take any such part.”
“I am acting solely in Gabrielle’s interest. I have put it to the Duke that this matter can best be settled between us. You see, Gerard——”
“What do you mean by the use of that name to me?”
“Is not your name Gerard?” He put the question casually and with just the necessary accent of surprise. “You must see how equivocal the position is.”
“I desire to hold no intercourse with you, monsieur,” replied Gerard coldly.
“You are really making a bad matter worse,” and de Proballe spread out his hands deprecatingly. “You are either Gerard de Cobalt or some one else. If the former, then this is a family matter which the Duke, in his love of justice and regard for the honour of our family, is willing to see arranged. But if the latter, then your conduct throughout is open to great suspicion. You came to the city secretly; you took part in our private affairs without the faintest warrant; you led a violent revolt against the Governor’s soldiers; you have wounded one of his followers—most unjustifiably; you have forced your way into the Castle here and, if not actually a spy, have acted just as a spy would have acted; you have been watched and observed to be in long confidential conference with another stranger—some pestilent contumacious monk; and thus have so gravely compromised yourself as to strain the Duke’s clemency beyond endurance.”
“And all this harangue means—what?” asked Gerard, bluntly.
“That you are in a very ugly fix indeed, in which my influence with the Duke can only with difficulty assist you. The monk with whom you spoke has been placed in confinement.”
“You are right in one thing, M. de Proballe: I can read in this your influence with the Governor. But those who know you best know that never yet did your influence harm those against whom it was directed nor help those for whom it was cast.”
At this moment a servant approached Gabrielle with a request that she would go at once to the Duchess. She had been taken ill suddenly and had asked urgently for Gabrielle.
“I will come soon.”
“You need not hesitate on account of me,” said Gerard with a smile.
“These soldiers here,” replied Gabrielle in a tone of alarm, as she pointed to a number of men who showed in the doorways. “See. I fear danger.”
“’Tis the hour for the change of guard, Gabrielle,” said de Proballe.
“I will not go yet,” she declared firmly.
“You cannot stay here, mademoiselle,” interposed the Governor bluntly.
“I will report to you all that passes, Gabrielle,” said de Proballe.
“I will not go,” she repeated.
“I think you had better,” urged Gerard.
“It must be as you will,” said de Proballe, when she shook her head resolutely. “Now that the men are here they will see that no violence is done. Our Gerard is so hasty, such a fire-eater, that he might be tempted to some fresh rashness which would be fatal to all settlement. Wait,” he said as if struck with a sudden thought. “It will serve the same purpose if you will give me your sword, Gerard.”
“That I will never do,” was the quick indignant response.
“To me then, monsieur,” said the Governor, stepping forward.
“To no man, my lord.”
“Then it must be taken from you;” and the Governor signed to the soldiers.
In a moment Gerard’s blade was out.
“Do you realize what you are doing, and where you are?” cried de Proballe. “Drawing upon the Governor of Morvaix?”
“Who dares to lay a hand on me may look to himself. I see your plan, monsieur,” said Gerard to de Proballe, with a bitter smile.
“Disarm him,” commanded the Governor, his eyes flashing. “This is treason against the constituted ruler, monsieur.”
“Gerard, Gerard!” cried Gabrielle in dire alarm.
“Come, Gabrielle, you must not interfere in this,” and de Proballe seized her hand and drew her aside.
Gerard sprang forward to interfere, but the soldiers interposed and prevented him.
“Cut him down if he resists,” was the Governor’s command, implacably given.
For some moments the fierce unequal combat raged, and two of the soldiers being wounded, the others fell back for a moment.
“My lord, stop this fighting,” cried Gabrielle, struggling to free herself from de Proballe’s grasp.
At her voice Gerard turned and made as if to go to her, but the soldiers, seeing that his eyes were turned from them, chose the moment to rush in again and one of them sprang upon him from behind. Thus hampered he was soon overpowered by the number who attacked him, his sword was wrenched from his grasp, and he was led away a prisoner.